


Over the Edge

by notmyyacht



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Begging, Erectile Dysfunction, Hand Jobs, Implied Relationships, Masturbation, Multi, Non-Consensual Kissing, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Relationship(s), Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Season/Series 03, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:31:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6950761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmyyacht/pseuds/notmyyacht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When everything else has been taken from him, Frederick is determined to hold onto that last joy of life: orgasms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over the Edge

_Will it even still work?_

It's an embarrassing question Frederick isn't ready to ask the doctors yet. More than once he wishes he could touch himself, just to relieve the stress, just to feel _good_ again. He doesn't. It's a stupid idea. He's still recovering, still receiving the grafts. He's sensitive everywhere.

He prays to God it still works. He lost his kidney, his eye, his skin... dear god, please not _that_ too.

Good news! The doctors say there was no serious damage done down there. In fact, it was one of the few places that won't even need grafts. Frederick thanks a god he's not sure he even believes in anymore.

No sexual activity until he's completely healed. That is fine. It's not like there's anybody who would want him after this... Frederick is finally released from the hospital, feeling more empty than ever before. His first night home and his hand sneaks down. If only he could just...

No. Not yet.

Frederick misses feeling good. Frederick cries himself to sleep. Maybe he'll never feel good ever again.

Months go by, Frederick heals.

Months go by and Frederick still hasn't touched himself.

Frederick has trained himself to stop missing it. At least, he's attempted to train himself.

It's months since he came home and the saddest thing breaks down any hint of self-conditioning.

A fucking pop-up on his computer.

'FIND HOT BABES IN YOUR AREA'

There's a spark of arousal. It's enough to make him _want to_ again. Right there he pushes his laptop aside and drops his hand to his flaccid cock. He gives it a few tugs, strokes it in the way that he used to.

Red alarm bells go off in his head. Nothing happens.

It apparently isn't a physical problem, but a psychological one. Frederick's doctor suggests he go see a therapist. Frederick laughs in the doctor's face. He doesn't care if it's an asshole thing to do; Frederick has had enough of his colleagues having a hand in his well-being; and like hell he would go to any of them to talk about his erection problems. He'd rather be set on fire again.

Frederick doesn't give up though.

If his own attempts won't do the trick, maybe someone else can.

The girl he calls for is perfect. Her tight black dress shows off her hourglass shape, long hair falls in her face, that gorgeous smile, nice tits... yes, she's perfect.

That gorgeous smile wavers when he opens the front door for her. She quickly adjusts herself and Frederick reminds himself that she's probably had worse. He takes her coat, he offers her wine. It's the most he can do for her -aside from pay her- for what she's about to help him with. She declines the wine and gets straight to the point.

"Where's the bedroom?"

Frederick's hands are shaking by the time they're both upstairs.

 _You are not trying to impress anyone_ , he tells himself. _This isn't some girl you picked up at a bar. This woman is here to make sure_ you _get off. You're trying to get off. You can do this._

"You don't have to be nervous." Oh great, she can sense it. "Hear, let me take care of you." Her velvet voice goes straight to his cock as she takes his hand and leads him to the bed.

Frederick swallows thickly as he lies on his back. He glances down his body, watching her unbuckle his belt and open the front of his pants. He's not quite hard yet. He closes his eyes and takes in the feel of her hand palming him through his briefs. His brow furrows. Come _on_.

He feels her hand dip into his underwear and pull his cock out. She strokes him a few times and Frederick can't even look. She flicks her thumb over the head and pumps him with a firmer grip.

"Do you need some sort of pill first?"

Frederick hadn't gotten to that option yet, but as he opened his eyes and saw the incredulous look on her face, his still soft cock in her hand, he knew it was probably time to consider it.

This time Frederick would deal with this on his own. Just him and the little blue pill were in for the night. Except it wasn't the night. It was the middle of the day because he couldn't wait after getting home. His hands shake again as he holds the key to his release in his palm. He downs it with a glass of water and practically runs to the bedroom.

This is it, it's going to happen. He might as well be comfortable in his soft bed when it does.

He shoves his pants halfway down his thighs, deciding he doesn't care if he ruins his clothes. Not long after -yes! He grins down at it.

"Hello beautiful."

He wraps his fingers around it and strokes. His entire body shivers at the sensation.

 _Finally_ , he thinks over and over, a grin plastered on his face. He doesn't need to fantasize. Just touching is enough. It's been far too long...

This is taking far too long. Frederick's wrist begins to cramp and he switches hands until the other wrist cramps too.

Frederick digs out his vibrator and just holds it there, let it do the job for him.

It's been nearly 90 minutes. Frederick is miserable.

Two hours.

Three.

The directions say if it lasts longer than four hours, then you should talk to a doctor. Frederick breaks at three. He wears his long coat to the emergency room.

Frederick curses Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham, wherever they are, for what they have done to him. They had gone missing during the attempt to draw the Dragon out. The FBI eventually tracked down Hannibal's seaside house. All that was found was the dead body of the Red Dragon. There had been a struggle, with blood of all participants everywhere -the house, the outside... But no Will or Hannibal.

Blood had been found on the rocky edge of the cliff, suggesting someone had gone over the side. No bodies were ever found. Everyone presumed the ocean took them both. Frederick hopes Hannibal and Will are rotting in Hell.

Frederick has given up. He sits on his couch, mindlessly watching his favorite cooking show on Netflix. He doesn't let himself think about it. He doesn't let his mind wander to the thought of the chef's facial hair scratching against his skin -a pleasant thought that usually accompanied watching this show. Frederick turns it off and picks a documentary about fast food restaurants.

There, that will show him. Nothing sexy here.

Frederick dozes off halfway through the documentary he was barely paying attention to. He startles awake at the sudden lack of white noise. He nearly screams when he sees just who turned off the TV.

"Evening, Frederick."

Frederick stares wide-eyed, his jaw slack.

"Y-you!"

Hannibal, alive and well, stands leering down at Frederick. He cocks his head.

"Hm, you actually don't look much different from how you used to, Frederick. Even your hair is growing back. The doctors did a good job. It never ceases to amaze me what you can bounce back from."

Hannibal looks barely damaged. A perfect specimen with a few cracks in it. Suppose that's what happens when you fall from a cliff, or at least what happens when someone like Hannibal falls from a cliff. Frederick's gaze falls on the two visible scars Hannibal now bares. The first is a long awkwardly healed gash that runs from Hannibal's cheek, down and under his ear into his hairline. The second is a smaller, faded scar on his forehead that runs into his hair, parting the hair slightly. Both somehow work very well for him.

Anger boils in the pit of Frederick's stomach, dulling the shock of seeing him. How _dare_ Hannibal still look so good after everything? How _dare_ he walk away with only a few fading scars?

Then it hits him and he breaks eye contact with Hannibal to glance about the room to confirm.

"Where's Will?" he asks.

Hannibal's jaw clenches. A smile tugs at Frederick's new lips.

"He did not survive, did he?" Frederick doesn't care how arrogant he sounds when he says it. He's glad that backstabbing bastard is dead.

Frederick's moment of glee is quickly dampened by the dark look that briefly flashes in Hannibal's eyes. Okay, maybe his snide assumption was a mistake to say out loud.

Hannibal bends over, eager to get into Frederick's personal bubble, and places a hand on the back of the sofa on either side of Frederick's head. His breath is calm and Frederick can barely feel it despite how close they are. Frederick instinctively licks his dry lips and sinks as far back as he can, which isn't much.

Hannibal glances between Frederick's lips and his eyes.

"Shame that I ate one of them," he says. "You're new lips aren't quite as lovely as your old ones."

Frederick whimpers and grips the cushions of the sofa. This can't be happening.

"How about a taste test?" Hannibal says with that joking smile Frederick had seen several times whenever Hannibal made an implied cannibalism quip at dinner in the past.

Frederick doesn't fight it as Hannibal closes the gap between them. His eyes squeeze shut, unable to watch it, waiting for Hannibal to bite these off too, maybe take his 'feisty tongue' with them. Hannibal licks at the new lips and deepens the kiss. It's surprisingly gentle and Frederick nearly melts into it. Hannibal's teeth catch onto his lower lip and Frederick whines, a scream ready at the back of his throat. But Hannibal immediately releases it and licks it before he pulls back.

Frederick finally opens his eyes when it's over to find Hannibal smiling at him, amused.

"You are still so easy," Hannibal comments. "It's a shame we only fucked three times during the time you thought we were friends."

"You kept count?" Frederick sneers, trying to gain the upper hand.

"Didn't you?" It's not a question. A blush creeps into Frederick's cheeks. Of course he did. Of course he wanted more. Then Will Graham happened. Then Alana Bloom happened. Then he found out Hannibal was a monster... and yet he likely still wou-

"No great loss," Hannibal continues, "we are here now and by the looks of it, you're still carrying a torch for me."

Frederick's eyes widened. He had ignored it, as he had every other time it happened when Hannibal was around, more times than he cared to admit. It had become as natural to ignore it around Hannibal as it was natural to breathe around him. Frederick hadn't expected he would fall into that habit, not after all the problems he's been having just trying to get it up.

Now that Hannibal has brought it to his attention, Frederick now is having a difficult time _trying_ to ignore it. He glances down at the tent in his pants and he sighs in mortified relief. Of all the times for things to finally be normal down there...

Frederick yelps at the feeling of Hannibal's hand on his thigh. He whines as Hannibal slides it further up.

"Hannibal, please."

"Tell me something, Frederick. Have you missed me?"

Frederick tries to avert his gaze, to look anywhere but at the monster touching him.

"Frederick look at me."

Oh, if only he could resist him. Hannibal's eyes hold his and fuck if that doesn't make his cock twitch.

Hannibal slides his hand over Frederick's crotch, and for a moment Frederick thinks he's going to come right there. He doesn't and he's not sure if he's relieved or not. He bites his lower lip and tries not to thrust into Hannibal's hand.

"Do you want this, Frederick? Tell me you want it."

Hannibal is having him _beg?_ If Frederick hadn't been having problems, he would have more willpower, at least that's what he tells himself. Hannibal moves his hand along Frederick's length over the cloth of his sweatpants, his index finger twirls in the untied strings and tugs just enough so Frederick can feel the waist tighten.

"Please! God, please..." Frederick whimpers.

"Please what, Frederick?"

Frederick doesn't care how humiliating it is, doesn't care who it is. He needs it.

"Please touch me."

The corner of Hannibal's mouth twitches upward in triumph and he pushes down the front of Frederick's sweatpants, allowing Frederick's hard cock to spring free. Hannibal brushes his fingers over the tip. Frederick shouts at the touch.

Hannibal's thumb presses against the slit, rubbing the precum over the head. Frederick's breathing quickens as he frantically grasps at the sofa. This is not going to last long. Good.

"Frederick, you seem more eager than I expected you to be."

 _You have no idea_ , Frederick thinks before Hannibal finally wraps his hand around his cock and starts to slowly stroke him. Frederick's jaw clenches and he thrusts into Hannibal's hand, desperate for more friction.

"Frederick, why are you so frantic for release? Is it so I will leave, or have you not been with someone in so long? Perhaps both?" It's not both, or either. But Frederick is not about to tell Hannibal his woes of the past several months. It's almost ironic. The man who took so much from Frederick is now giving it back.

A sudden panic rises in the back of Frederick's mind. What if he doesn't get off? What if he can't? What if Hannibal keeps touching him but nothing happens? Will Hannibal be disappointed? Frederick tries not to linger on that last thought.

Hannibal's quickens his movements and a heat breaks across Frederick's skin. No, this is happening. It's going to happen. Frederick spares a glances down. He watches Hannibal's hand move up and down his cock. This is really happening.

"Do you enjoy watching me touch you?"

Hannibal's words send a shiver down Frederick's spine. Hannibal pauses at the base of Frederick's cock, holding him, waiting for an answer.

"Y-Yes." Frederick gulps. Hannibal tugs a little, earning him a gasp. He tightens his grip and alarm bells start ringing in Frederick's head.

"Yes!" he shouts. "I like watching you touch me. Please don't stop."

Hannibal smirks and releases Frederick's cock to dip lower to fondle Frederick's balls.

Frederick emits a strangled groan. This is too much.

"Hannibal, please... please let me cum."

"You can do better than that, Frederick," says Hannibal, gently squeezing.

"Please, Hannibal. Please let me cum. I'll do anything." He really would. " _Please_." Tears well up in Frederick's eyes as he grips onto Hannibal's shirt.

"Good boy."

Hannibal moves his hand back to Frederick's cock and starts stroking him in rapid pumps. Frederick's brain goes into overload, unable to think straight. His hips thrust up, unrhythmically meeting Hannibal's fist.

"Cum for me, Frederick."

On cue, Frederick's eyes roll back and he grabs hold of Hannibal's shoulders for dear life. For the first time in forever, he cums long, thick ropes onto his shirt and Hannibal's hand. His body feels like it will tear in two as his screams echo off the wide walls of his house.

Hannibal lets Frederick's limp, spent body slump against the back of the couch. Frederick lies there in a daze with his eyes half-lidded and tears running from the corners, dampening his cheeks. He keeps his one good eye locked on Hannibal until they shut completely with a sigh.

Frederick needs a shower. With an groan, he tries to sit up. He feels so weak, he slumps back against the cushions. Defeated, Frederick watches Hannibal wipe his hand with a cloth he's certain came from his kitchen. All clean, Hannibal neatly folds the cloth and sets it on the coffee table.

"Why did you come?" Frederick asks, his voice strained. Hannibal doesn't answer him. Instead, he licks his lips and turns to go.

"Stay."

Frederick's chest pounds and he winces. Did he really just say that?

Hannibal turns to him, his expression blank.

"Please?" Frederick adds and he winces at that too.

Hannibal regards him for a moment. Frederick sees something there. Loss? Regret? It's too quick to tell.

Then, finally, Hannibal turns on his heel and says, "Goodnight Frederick."

Frederick sits there, listening to the front door open and close. His chest aches again. Stupid. Stupid ideas run through his head; the idea of running after Hannibal, begging to take him with. If only to relieve the loneliness, the misery. Frederick would forgive him for everything if he could have that relief.

Frederick does the smart thing though. He stays there, on his sofa, still covered in his own cum. He wipes any stray tears from his cheeks and runs a hand through his sweat-drenched hair. His eyes droop once again and this time he allows the exhaustion to take him.

**Author's Note:**

> The "Stay" line was drgaybelgideon's idea! Thanks bae for proofreading this!! <3


End file.
